Weddings
by Ashe Nightshade
Summary: Lovino hates weddings, but maybe not for the reason or reasons you might think. Rated T for Lovi's mouth...er, more specifically, some language in his thoughts.


**Why hello there ^w^ I'm posting some drabbles I found lying around on my computer, this one and three others.**

**A forewarning to anyone currently reading my story Assassins-these drabbles are:**

**a. From long before my chapter story**

**b. Oneshots**

**c. Not revised**

**d. For the most part, very short.**

**So the oneshots, should you choose to read this or any others, may not be as well-written, detailed, or involved as my other story. Just a heads-up!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

I scowled as I watched the potato bastard and my brother saying their 'I do's.

I hate weddings. And not for the reasons you'd think. It's not the fluffy decorations or all the crappy white lace and shit or the fact that I'm forced to be around so many people or the fact that they take so fucking long and are so fucking full of disgustingly gooey happiness.

I hate weddings because I look around at everyone else there-everyone who's happy and has someone-and it reminds me of what I don't have. The reminder of the fact that everyone but me has someone who loves him or her pierces me to the core. And it reminds me that I will never have what they have.

Bastardos.

Even Canada, quiet, nearly invisible Canada, has found someone within the last year. It's that annoying, overly loud second potato bastard. What he sees in him, I don't know.

Hell, everyone here is paired up but me.

The fat American bastard's with England. My brother, of course, has potato bastard number one-it's his fucking wedding, after all. Canada has potato bastard number two. That creepy Russian is with China. How that's managed to work out, I don't even fucking know...

And then there's the wine bastard and the tomato bastard.

They're together and it fucking sucks.

Stupid tomato bastard.

You're the reason I hate weddings.

I still can't believe they're together, and it's been two years now. Every day I go to sleep in my own house, praying that when I wake up, they'll have broken up. But it never works, and I wake up every morning alone, reminded of the fact that I can never have what I really want.

The loss of the tomato bastard (can I still call it a loss if he never even knew what he meant to me?) was what decided me: living is fucking hell.

Every time I look at the two of them together, which I try not to do often, they look so fucking happy! It hurts more than I'd have ever thought.

I miss him, not that I'll ever admit that to anyone except myself. It's not fucking fair.

To be honest, I know it wasn't intentional when he kicked me out. It hurt me, but I know he didn't mean to. Somehow, that just makes me angrier.

I still remember it, the day he asked me to leave. It hurts more to think about than it ever did before.

_I was sitting opposite Antonio on the couch. "You wanted to have a discussion, tomato bastard?"_

_He nodded. I'd rarely seen him look this serious. "Lovi, I...I have to ask you to move out."_

_"Wha-huh?" I said, dumbfounded, mouth hanging half open in shock. _

_"Well, see, wait! L-let me explain," Antonio stammered. "It's just that...Francis and I have been together for a bit and he wants to move in! And there...well, I'm sorry, Lovi, but there's not room for three...and I kind of said yes to Francis already...I'm sorry, Lovi."_

_I scowled, feeling like a shard of glass was twisting itself into my heart, even deeper than it had when he'd first told me he and Francis were together. "Whatever. Fucking tomato bastard," I snapped, standing. "I'll leave, then, right after I get my stuff." I left the room with the scowl firmly in place, but it melted the second I was out of the room, leaving only hurt._

I had cried for three fucking hours that day because the tomato bastard had pushed me out. He hadn't even noticed, though, because he'd been too fucking busy trying to get everything 'ready' for that wino.

He'd seemed hurt after I'd left the room, but that didn't last long.

I was amazed that even now, after all this time, the tomato bastard couldn't figure out what was wrong. He seemed genuinely puzzled as to why I'd stopped visiting him, calling him and talking to him. The one time he'd visited me, I had pretended I wasn't home. I knew it made him sad that I'd frozen him out, and it made me hurt not to see him, but it fueled my rage that he couldn't even fucking figure it out.

And it would have hurt more to see him with the cheese fucker and know he would never realize I loved him, missed him, needed him, and that he would never feel the same towards me.

I miss him more than I thought was possible. Antonio-he was my everything, even if he didn't know it. I miss his sparkling green eyes, his tan skin, his brown hair. I miss his stupid smile that he almost always had, I miss his constant fucking optimism, the way he never gave up. I miss the way he would always blame himself for things, and then I'd get mad at him for it and he'd be apologizing all over again. I miss the way he never got mad at me, seemed to appreciate me even though I did nothing for him. I miss the way he'd whine when I wouldn't let him hug me, and the way he would sneak up and hug me so I wouldn't stop him. I miss his fucking tomatoes, even.

I miss everything about him, and it's not fucking fair how much it hurts to see the cheese fucker with him and know that's what makes Antonio happy.

They say if you love something, let it go.

I've tried.

But it doesn't help to be surrounded by so many fucking happy people at a wedding, to see so many couples, and to be reminded of what I was forced to let go and can never have.

I fucking hate weddings.

And that is why, as everyone trails out to go to the reception, I head for my car, get in, and go home.

Because I just don't know how much fucking longer I could stand to be around the happy couple and their fucking entourage of happy couples.

Stupid. Fucking. Weddings.

**Longest drabble of them all. Pretty proud of this one.**

**I don't support the pairing of France and Spain, but if you do, hey, more power to you, I'm not bashing it or anything.**

**My OTP, though, is Spamano all the way. So one day, I got to wondering how Lovi would feel if Spain and France got together and he was left alone.**

**I mean, sure, he'd probably present this 'whatever' front at the time, but after the fact, probably a different story...**

**So I decided to write this angsty little drabble~!**

**Reviews are, of course, welcome ^.^**

**And because this drabble is my favorite, and because I would like suggestions of things to write, I have decided that for anyone who actually writes a review (a legit review, not a flame, not just a 'hi there, friend!') I will write a oneshot fanfiction with a pairing and/or situation of their choice. It can be anything you want, from fluffy couple stuff to an angsty oneshot from the POV of one specific character (like this fanfic). All you have to do is write a legit review and say, in the review, what sort of oneshot you'd like and with what character(s)/pairing(s). Anything you want.**

**Just a little thing I thought I'd throw in for some fun.**

**Well, until next time! ^.^**


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